


On Dark Wings

by Akiko_Natsuko



Series: BixFreed [23]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Bigotry & Prejudice, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fear, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M, Magic, Memories, Nightmares, Recovery, Serious Injuries, Team as Family, Torture, Trauma, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22994653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: Black wings bring misfortune. Bickslow had grown up with the knowledge that his glossy, ebony wings weren’t something to be celebrated, even before his magic had been added to the mix. He'd learned to hide, from the world and from his own dreams. The Raijinshuu changed that. Freed changed that, but misfortune can't be denied.
Relationships: Bickslow/Freed Justine
Series: BixFreed [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1188712
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	On Dark Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that if you want to talk to me about my fics and writing, or anime/shows/games in general then you can now find me on discord [The Unholy Trinity](https://discord.gg/6sSddAWa5c).

_“Black wings bring misfortune.”_

Bickslow had grown up with the knowledge that his glossy, ebony wings weren’t something to be celebrated. He could still remember the way his parents’ expression had crumpled when he had run to them a couple of months before his fourth birthday, bursting with pride as he waved the glistening black feather he was clutching, tiny wings fluttering behind him. He’d always loved his mother’s wings and would watch in awe as they took to the air, gliding on currents that he couldn’t’ see. Flying with them had only made him want it more because the feeling of swooping through the air was something that couldn’t be replicated, and even though he knew it would be a while before his own wings were strong enough to support him, but it was a step in the right direction, and he couldn’t wait to share it with them.

What should have been a joyous occasion had quickly become anything but. After their expressions had fallen, he’d found himself shepherded upstairs without so much as a hug, or pat on the head to congratulate him for gaining his wings. It had been that night, still confused about what was happening, that he had first heard ‘black wings brings misfortune’ when he had crept downstairs to find his parents sitting together in the living room, glossy red and brown wings pressed against their backs, a sign of distress. He hadn’t understood at the time, only knowing that it had sounded bad.

That had been the beginning.

He had been kept hidden away until he was able to fold his wings away. There was no talk about teaching him to fly, and his parents had refused to touch the ebony wings, leaving him to clumsily preen them, causing more damage than anything in the beginning. As soon as he could hide his wings away, life improved, and some of the distance that had crept into the space between him and his parents melted away. But with it came strict instructions not to show his wings out in public, and it was then, surrounded by people his own age who moved freely with their wings exposed that he finally began to understand that his beautiful, ebony wings were a curse, not a blessing. A dirty little secret that held the power to destroy everything, and it scared him.

He kept them hidden most of the time, even when he was in the safety of their home. When he had to let them out in his own room, he found himself unable to look at them, and his dreams of the open sky had never seemed further away.

He was trapped.

Grounded.

He told himself it was worth it, and that it was better than losing everything else. He’d almost started to believe it himself when his magic had developed. That had been a death knell on the life he had lived till then. His wings could be hidden and forgotten. The Seith magic that simmered beneath his skin, and burned in his eyes couldn’t be ignored., particularly in those early days when his control had been patchy at best. His parents had been afraid of him, barely able to look at him, let alone stay in the same room, and he’d felt the looming schism. It had all come to a head when he’d lost control, taking control of his mother after she’d caught him outside, wings outstretched for once, daydreaming about flying away to a place where none of this mattered. That had been the final straw, the fractures that had formed from the moment he had run inside as an innocent child unaware of what the dark wings sprouting from his back would mean, tearing them apart and Bickslow had fled before they could tell him to leave, not wanting to be haunted by whatever they had intended to say to him.

**

The world beyond his parent’s and the village where he had lived his whole life was better and worse than he expected. He was still greeted with suspicion, his magic landing him in trouble more than once. _Dark magic. Cursed magic._ He heard it all, and yet at the same time his magic allowed him to find work on occasion and kept him out of trouble more than once, and he found himself hating and loving it at the same time. His wings he kept hidden, mostly from habit, but also from fear, because it didn’t seem to matter where he went, he heard those words that had been the bane of his life ‘black wings bring misfortune’. Any hope that he’d harboured that there would be somewhere, or even someone in Fiore where he could just be himself, and where his magic and wings would be accepted, fading day by day.

So, he hardened his heart. Buried those dreams as deep as he could. Loved and hated his magic and tried to forget that he had wings at all, and for the most part, it had worked, if he could ignore the ache in his heart. The envy that would twist in his chest as he watched the people fly freely above him. A grief so profound that he could never put it into words gnawing at him, as he lost more and more of himself. A man on the edge of coming undone.

That was when Freed found him.

*

Freed with his beautiful, creamy feathers spread out like a banner behind him. An angel who looked at Bickslow and saw something more. It had been his magic – cursed by so many – that had brought Freed and Evergreen into his life, looking for someone with similar magic to theirs to complete their team. With nothing left to lose, and teetering on the edge of falling apart, Bickslow had gone with them, not daring to hope, to believe that he could be accepted for who he was.

He was wrong.

He hadn’t shown them his wings, that was a step too far for him at that point. But he let them see his magic, reluctantly using it on them when they asked, and they didn’t turn him away. The darkness didn’t scare them, his sometimes wavering control was something that could be overcome together. Together. From the moment he had agreed, reluctant and wary, they had counted him as one of them as simple as that. If they were curious about the hidden wings, they never showed it. Instead, they were angry for his sake as he haltingly shared with them the rejection that had greeted his magic, sharing with him their own struggles, understanding him in a way that he had started to think that no one would. A balm against his tattered spirit, and slowly, tentatively he had begun to hope again.

*

Still, it was months later before they would see his wings, and even then it had been an accident. Life was good, something he had never imagined possible before Freed had approached him that day. He had a home, a guild – his magic accepted for what it was – and he had friends, that he could one day see becoming family. But he was still terrified of how they would react if they saw his black wings, and so refused their invitations to fly with him, or preen his wings, and tried no to watch enviously as they took to the sky. Yet, for everything he had now, he found himself wanting more. Hoping for more, and for the first time in years, he found himself releasing his wings from their folded position.

It hurt.

Muscles atrophied by years of disuse screamed their protest at the movement, bringing tears to his eyes. And at the first sign of black wings, no longer glossy, but dull and matted was almost enough to make him hide them again. _Black wings bring misfortune._ By the time he had them fully stretched out he was shaking, cheeks damp as he breathed raggedly through the pain, and yet the sob that bubbled up came out as a laugh, because as much as it hurt, it was a step forward.

“Bickslow, do you…?” Bickslow whirled around as Freed’s voice cut off, realising that he had been so caught up in what he was doing that he hadn’t heard the door open, his heart hammering in his chest. _Black wings bring misfortune. Black wings…_ There was a roaring in his ears, terror gripping him. He was four years old again, running through with his wings exposed, only this time he knew what was coming and he braced himself for the fear, the anger that he hadn’t told them.

The rejection.

He couldn’t meet Freed’s gaze, the progress of the last few months bleeding away as he stood there, head bowed and wings drooping. He’d thrown it all away, and for what? A few minutes of freedom. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Why wasn’t Freed shouting at him, or telling him to leave? Instead, the other man was moving closer, his feet appearing in his line of sight and now Bickslow found himself bracing for a blow, knowing that he couldn’t bring himself to do anything to hurt Freed, terror and hurt forming a ball in the pit of his stomach. The gentle brush of fingers against his cheek was a shock, but before he could try and fathom what that meant, Freed had moved, fingers shifting to under his chin, gently forcing his head up and not knowing what else to do Bickslow obeyed. He felt sick, knowing that this could only end badly, and yet…why was Freed smiling, and looking at him with a reverence that he had only ever seen the other man show books before. He couldn’t speak, the words wouldn’t come, but he must’ve made a noise of some kind because Freed jolted, although he didn’t remove his hands, eyes roving over the trembling, lowered wings before meeting Bickslow’s gaze.

“They’re beautiful…” Freed whispered, and Bickslow mutely shook his head, not understanding what was happening. Yet, as he looked into Freed’s eyes and searched his expression, he could find no trace of fear or anger or hatred, or anything to suggest that Freed feared his dark feathers and something soft and warm tried to blossom in his chest, but he pushed it away. _Black wings bring misfortune._ He couldn’t let himself hope. He wouldn’t dream of more, not again, a child’s hurt bubbling up beneath everything else. “Bickslow?” Freed was frowning now and Bickslow tensed before realising it wasn’t anger, but worry, recognising the expression from all the times his recklessness had landed him in trouble, and his confusion grew, and all he could do was shake his head again. Sure, that he had done something wrong when Freed sighed, and finally dropped his hand, and terror gripped him and ached to lunge forward and grab the hand, to chase the touch that offered something even though he wasn’t sure what it was.

A gentle touch stopped him. Careful fingers brushing not against skin this time, but slowly, gently brushing through long-neglected feathers as Freed reached for his right wing. Bickslow was rigid. No one but him had ever touched his wings, and he was unprepared for how right it felt, like an itch that had been waiting to be scratched, and he trembled. It was too much, and not enough, something deep within craving more. He wasn’t aware that he was crooning, soft, broken pleas rising as Freed stepped closer, fingers moving with more confidence when Bickslow didn’t push him away. He wanted more, he needed more, his fear temporarily pushed back as he chased the sensation that had been denied him for so long, and he for a moment he almost believed it when Freed’s wings brushed his as the Rune Mage repeated his earlier words.


End file.
